Balance
by Aella Antiope
Summary: Five years after the royal marriage, Wolfram starts flirting with Murata.  Murata is only human.  How could he resist?  But was ending his loneliness worth hurting Yuuri's heart or Wolfram's pride?   Yuuri/Wolfram, Murata/Wolfram/Yuuri.  THREESOME
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings: ** Some sexual references.

**Notes: **This was betaed by the talented and helpful HARPG0. But all mistakes are mine.

* * *

Five years after the royal marriage, Wolfram starts flirting with Murata. Murata is only human. How could he resist? But was ending his loneliness worth hurting Yuuri's heart or Wolfram's pride?

Yuuri/Wolfram, Murata/Wolfram/Yuuri. Threesome.

* * *

It was only a few years after the marriage that Wolfram started flirting with him. It wasn't as though he hadn't noticed the Prince Consort before. Murata always had a preference for blonds (and had for almost every life that he could recall) and Prince Wolfram was certainly beautiful. It was only natural that he looked and he could pretend all he liked that the similarity he had with Shinou wasn't a factor, except he would be lying.

But look was all Murata ever did; Prince Wolfram was married and _married_ to the King who happened to be his best friend. As far as he could see, it was a happy marriage; extraordinary so considering that their engagement had begun by a quirky cultural misunderstanding.

At first, Murata thought he was imagining things. For Shibuya was relaxed during these flirtations. And although the King wasn't as possessive as the Prince Consort, he had developed a definite proprietary attitude to his husband since he'd come to terms with his Maou alter-ego.

It was possible that Shibuya didn't notice, but after finally coming to terms with his feelings for von Bielefeld Murata didn't think that was likely. Shibuya's stubborn denial five years ago had set in motion events which had almost led to tragedy, and everyone close to the King and Lord von Bielefeld had been dragged into the crisis.

Even now, Murata didn't think that Lord von Voltaire had recovered from all the emotional displays. It was a hard lesson for Shibuya to learn and it had taken abduction and attempted assassination to do so. Fortunately, it had ended well. With a long anticipated wedding.

Since then, the King had become more sensitive to the Prince's feelings, and if Shibuya didn't notice his husband's behaviour, then Murata found it easier to overlook the flirtations. Or, rather, Murata chose to enjoy it as a sign of friendship instead.

Without guilt, Murata took up Prince Wolfram's frequent invitations for afternoon tea in the garden. Sometimes, these garden teas were also accompanied by Shibuya, and, occasionally, Sir Weller. Murata found himself enjoying Bielefeld's company. The Prince was intelligent and well versed in history and literature and Murata felt that marriage to the Demon King had settled him somewhat. Prince Wolfram was still quite a passionate and sometimes outspoken man. However, his more obnoxious behaviour, which had been fuelled by jealousy and insecurity, had disappeared...mostly.

Indeed, Murata had come to look forward to these private tea parties. He'd been starved of such conversation over the years. Apart from Shibuya and Yozak, he didn't have any other close friends. He had a good relationship with Lady Ulrike and Prince Wolfram's brothers, but he'd never really connected with them in a meaningful way.

Murata knew that was his own doing. On the surface, he aimed for open friendliness, but he could never hide an underlying reserve and Murata wasn't sure if he knew how to anymore. After centuries of betrayal in power and politics, it was an effective defense mechanism. Loneliness was a price he was willing to pay; he'd had a millennium to learn to deal with it.

So, Murata was resolved to politely ignore Prince Wolfram's small, almost secret smiles, _absolutely_. The way the Prince had become much "touchier" and the moments he'd be in conversation with say, Lord von Voltaire, and he'd look up to see Bielefeld staring at him. Each time, Murata found his eyes sliding to Shibuya and there was never a reaction. Therefore, it _must_ be his overactive imagination.

So, he ignored the signs. It wasn't until Yozak had pointed it out to him that he realised, reluctantly, that his original intuition was accurate. His wilful ignorance had been bliss, because with knowledge comes responsibility.

The mornings had gotten cooler, heading towards autumn. It was still warm enough to enjoy the outdoors without rugging up when Yozak shared his observations with him as they went for a walk down to the Lake near the Temple. It was nice to share time with his friend. Both their schedules were busy and the spy was frequently out of the capital or even the country. So, this time was precious.

"You realise that half the Castle thinks you're sleeping with the Prince Consort," Yozak said in his matter of fact way.

This stopped Murata in his tracks. He looked at Yozak in disbelief.

"How do you mean? We never spend any time alone together." The only time was in the gardens and that was in plain view of the staff and other residents of the Castle. They could hardly have gotten it on in the flower beds. He pushed his glasses up in bewilderment.

"Well, I didn't think it was likely myself," Yozak said, grinning at Murata's moment of rare confusion. "I know you'd never dally with a married man, no matter how pretty."

"Then why the rumours?"

Yozak had relayed rumours that Murata had been sleeping with almost everyone over the years. At first, it had been with Lady Ulrike. Then, later, with Shibuya and later more persistently that he was in a relationship with Yozak. Murata had a lot of fun with the latter. If questioned about their 'friendship,' Murata smiled ambiguously. It was one rumour he didn't mind; Yozak was quite a great catch. But, in reality, they were only good friends, laughing at the gossip, their friendship solid.

These new rumours, however, were different. Jokes aide, Yozak was taking it much more seriously and Murata put a great deal of stock in the spy's news; he was a genius in intelligence and had a knack for picking up trends in public opinion.

"It's the way he flirts with you. Don't tell me you haven't noticed? Even Lord von Voltaire has. It was _him_ who asked me if there were any substance to the rumours. You should have seen him, Ken. It would have been funny if he hadn't sounded so damn serious about it."

This was Lord von Voltaire's roundabout way of making sure his concerns were passed onto the Great Sage. Murata didn't think that Voltaire believed the rumours, but it was obvious that the Chancellor thought the rumours were a problem.

Murata sighed, thinking again of Prince Wolfram's secret smiles and long looks. "Yes, I thought so. But I dismissed it because, most times, his flirtations were in front of Shibuya and he wasn't upset by the Prince's behaviour."

"Do you think it's the Prince's way of getting the kid to pay attention to him?" Yozak asked.

"No." Murata said after he considered Yozak's question. "While it's true that they are both very busy and Shibuya's schedule doesn't leave him as much time with his family as he'd want, the time he does spend is entirely devoted to the Prince He hasn't been _neglecting him._" He stressed the last two words lacing it with deliberate innuendo. Yozak nodded in agreement, the bedchamber maids were never discreet.

Murata had no clue why Bielefeld was flirting with him. He couldn't believe it was because the Prince had gotten tired of Shibuya. He didn't want to believe it.

"You might want to speak to the Prince about it now that it's got potential to ruin the King's reputation," Yozak advised quietly.

* * *

Finding time to speak to the Prince was easier said than done. With rumours flying around, Murata could hardly ask for some private time with the Prince Consort in a public setting, and it would do no good to be found alone with the Prince. There was sparse privacy anywhere in the Castle and Bielefeld had no business at the temple.

Murata still couldn't believe anyone could imagine them having an affair; numerous eyes were on them constantly. But rumours had the ability to take on their own life and if enough people believed it, it was as good as fact.

Before Murata incited some minor military crisis to force Bielefeld to the Temple as a last frustrated resort, he was invited to a family picnic at the Sacred Tree.

Also invited were Prince Wolfram, the Demon King, Princess Greta, her husband, her step-children, Sir Weller, of course, and various guards from Bielefeld and Weller's squad. A family gathering, a typical _small_ private royal family gathering

This led Murata to the most surreal and awkward conversation he'd ever had with Shibuya, and with a Kingdom like Shin Makoku with a King like Yuuri, that was saying something.

* * *

Murata watched as Prince Wolfram played some chasing game with Greta's step-children, a small boy of four and a girl of six.

Greta and her husband looked on in amusement. The Princess was just starting to show with her first pregnancy. Her hair was adorned with flower wreaths that little Anna had made for her earlier.

Greta had fallen in love and married a human merchant's son a few years before. A handsome, idealistic, wide-eyed boy called Joseph. He reminded Murata of Shibuya; an opinion he would keep to himself. Joseph's first wife, a childhood sweetheart, had died in childbirth with their youngest. Greta had met Joseph a few years later and had fallen in love. It was a happy union, free of political complications and blessed by both of her fathers. Prince Wolfram had been satisfied at least that the Princess had married well. The merchant family was extremely wealthy and did as well as any human could in a kingdom that still valued mazoku over humans.

It was a fine day. The sun wasn't too hot. He had enjoyed the food and relaxed atmosphere. But Shibuya had been stealing him furtive looks for the last half hour and had been acting a little strangely around Murata since he'd joined the party earlier. There was a glass of white wine in Yuuri's hands, an unusual sight with the king, and it would have been quite a carefree day if it wasn't for Shibuya's nervousness. In fact, the nerves were so thick he could imagine them wafting off him in solid waves.

After an hour, where Murata had failed to find an opportunity to pull Prince Wolfram aside for a quiet word, he decided to confront the king instead. His weird edginess was starting to get to Murata anyway.

"Okay spill it, Shibuya."

"Umm what?" The king was doing a decent impression of a deer frozen in the headlights. It was a little cute although Murata would never admit it. Even after all these years, Shibuya had this air of innocence. Despite appearances, Murata knew he wasn't that naive, but his innocent air made others more determined to protect him and his enemies underestimate him. Sometimes, Murata had wondered if it was all an act. Well...not _this_ time.

"You've been giving me these _looks_; I know you want to say something." Murata tried and failed to give Shibuya eye contact.

"Well, it's just ...umm...Murata, I like you, and Wolfram likes you...and umm…you're nice and I'd… umm… we were thinking that we'd like you to join us sometime."

As Yuuri said this, he was twirling his wine glass around between his thumb and forefinger, the little wine remaining sloshing around and evidently Shibuya found this extremely fascinating.

It took him about ten seconds before realisation hit Murata. And then about another ten seconds to force his face into a neutral, affable, "I'm-an-understanding-friend" look, and not reveal how shocked this proposition made him. After four thousand years, very few things surprised the Great Sage, but he had not seen this coming. At all. Ever.

The silence lengthened and lengthened some more as he tried to come up with a more intelligent response other than "Huh?"

Sweet, innocent Shibuya Yuuri had just asked him into a threesome with his husband. He restrained the urge to grab that damned wine glass from Shibuya's hands; at this rate, he was going to break it. Instead, Murata mentally took a deep breath and thought about what he was going to say.

He decided to play dumb. It was such a cruel thing to make his friend spell things out but he needed time for his brain to stop spinning around in circles. And, if Yuuri couldn't be more specific, perhaps that was a good indication of how he'd proceed.

"Sure, it would be nice to have a private dinner with both of you sometime. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Murata was pleased at how well he was able play casual when his inner reaction was to grab Yuuri by the collar and shake while yelling _"What the hell?"_

"Err," Shibuya responded intelligently. Then, with one gulp, he drank the rest of the wine. Murata had the same urge to drink too.

Shibuya continued hurriedly, the words coming out in a rush. "I mean, together, umm...in bed."

Shibuya looked close to hyperventilating. Murata had not seen him so worked up since he'd come out of denial about his feelings for Bielefeld after his twentieth birthday. Not the most pleasant of times, he remembered. Murata had had to make time to support Shibuya during an emotional meltdown at the same time as holding Sir Weller's hand as he suffered his own crisis when everyone had thought Wolfram had been murdered. The image of that wind-swept rocky slope appeared in his mind's eye, and the blood. Murata let the image go with a mental shrug.

His friend was in agonised mortification, best to put him out of his misery.

"Shibuya, do you _like_ me?"

Yuuri shot him a startled expression.

"Sure, we've been friends for years." nervous laughter followed.

Fairly certain about the response he'd just received, Murata asked again.

"Do you really like me? Do you want to have sex with me?"

That truth sat between them, stark and bare.

"Umm, I like you. Wolfram thinks you're cute and, well...I like you." The words trailed off awkwardly.

It all started to make sense to Murata. Or, rather, as much sense as anything could be about this situation. The relationship between the Demon King and his Prince Consort was a hot topic of conversation in the court. As, historically, all Monarch's before had been and all Yuuri's descendents would be.

Murata had heard much that was gossiped about, and although it wasn't his job, like it was for Yozak, he deliberately took note of what was said. This is why he'd spent so much time flirting with the maids and that young stable hand and hanging out in the kitchens with the staff being as affable as possible. Well it was _fun,_ with the extra benefit of freshly baked goodies. More importantly, the information was valuable and it paid to find out what the servants knew.

Naturally, nobody ever talked about him while he was about which is why it was Yozak who had to tell him about the supposed affair he was having with Prince Wolfram. But Murata knew plenty of what was said about the royal couple.

It was widely held that the spoilt Lord Brat had been catered with everything by his brothers and mother. Not entirely true, Murata knew- and it was said that Bielefeld had moved on to find a husband who could spoil him the way he expected; also, not entirely true.

The inner circle had witnessed a few times where Wolfram had been reprimanded by his husband. He also knew that Wolfram loved Shibuya too much to take advantage of him entirely and that, within reason, Yuuri would do anything, or _give _anything, to make his husband happy.

Murata figured Shibuya suffered residual guilt for not being a typical husband who could spend more time with Wolfram, never mind that back home his father had spent less time with his mother and sons than Yuuri managed with running an entire kingdom. Or that Prince Wolfram's role was just as demanding with his squad and covering as Consort. Guilt wasn't rational.

And, largely, it was because Prince Wolfram was Shibuya's beloved, in the sense of those horrible romantic novels. This was the real deal. Murata had lived long enough to recognise genuine love. He hoped that Bielefeld knew how damned lucky he was.

So, if Wolfram wanted to have Murata join in love-making, in their private bedchamber, then Yuuri would try to accommodate. It was just the way Shibuya was, even if he wasn't that comfortable with the notion.

Murata's course of action was clear; even if the proposal intrigued him.

"As interested as I am Shibuya, and I am, I'll decline. What happens between you and your husband is private. I think it's important that everyone's really... truly comfortable with a sexual relationship and I don't think this is the case?"

He ended the sentence in a half-question and wasn't surprised at Shibuya's relieved expression.

"Oh okay." And that was the end of that conversation.

The rest of the afternoon was a little embarrassing for Murata but not so bad as it could have been all things considered.

Prince Wolfram had returned from his play with the children and had given Shibuya a questioning look, but his expression went bland with some sign between them. Murata maintained a friendly attitude towards the Prince and nothing further happened that afternoon that was untoward.

That night at the Temple, Murata dreamt he was entwined with white skin, green eyes and long limbs and of big black eyes watching him, watching_ them_ avidly. He woke just as the sky outside the Temple window was lightening, his cock hard between his legs and the image of the dream still fresh in his mind. Oh he was so _screwed_.

* * *

If there was any negative feelings between Shibuya and his Consort following the awkward proposal at the picnic, Murata did not see it.

For a week after Murata deemed it wise to stay at the Temple, his dealings with the Castle and the Demon King limited. When he resumed his visits at the inner circle briefings, Shibuya addressed him no differently then before. This impressed Murata a little; he didn't think that his friend had developed that level of subterfuge for he knew the whole event would have had an impact on Shibuya.

The Prince had stopped flirting with him. Still coolly polite, no different than before the whole surreal affair had started.

The afternoon garden teas continued. Not nearly as often as before and the Prince was strictly friendly with him, bordering on professional.

Of course Yozak noticed.

"Whatever you said, it must have worked. The Prince is no longer giving you those long looks." Murata shrugged and smiled blandly. Yozak wasn't fooled.

"Oh, come on! I'm dying to know."

A part of him did consider telling the spy. Yozak was his closest friend now and he knew that he could trust him. But his mind went to the memory of Shibuya's embarrassed proposition. This wasn't his secret alone to share so he'd continued smiling.

Yozak had sighed. "Fine…_fine_, maybe you'll tell me one day. But as good as this is for the Kingdom and Lord von Voltaire's sleep, it's a bit of a shame. The Prince is beautiful and flirting is fun."

Murata agreed. But, even more than the flirtations, he missed the Consort's conversations. The true ones, not the polite discussions about trade, or about the Temple's schedules, but the ones about literature, or the gossip, or sharing little titbits about Shibuya's childhood and bad habits.

And he couldn't see Shibuya the same way. Murata had seen him as the sweet boy who he'd watched grow up, his friend, the one who he had guided in his position. Unlike his appreciations for Prince Wolfram, he'd never seen Shibuya in a sexual way. But, now, his mind couldn't see anything else. It was as if a switch had been flipped in Murata's head.

His dreams and imaginings often presented Shibuya watching him while he screwed the Prince into the mattress. Or, more telltale, with dreams where the Demon King was writhing under him while he'd sucked his cock. Murata had thousands of years of memories to draw upon, so his imagination wasn't lacking and his mind would bring them up regularly.

Now, Murata couldn't help but notice how much of a good looking man Shibuya had grown up to be. All that baseball practice, daily morning exercises, and sword lessons had given him a nicely muscled physique. When Shibuya was in armour, with Morgif sheathed, he looked the exact picture of the fearsome warrior King, much like Shinou had been.

But that last image wasn't what Murata found appealing No, that wasn't right. It wasn't that alone he found appealing. It was the awareness that the king never saw himself in that way. Shibuya still saw himself as the plain somewhat dorky boy from Japan. As competent as he was in swordsmanship after years of tutoring from Sir Weller, and as fearsome and powerful as he was when he brought forth the Maou, his soul was as gentle and sweet as any he'd known. He'd never met Lady Julia, but he could almost imagine what she'd had been like and why everyone had loved her.

For that what he saw when he looked at Shibuya Yuuri and it was striking.

Murata could not deny his attraction to both the Prince and the King, both desirable in their unique ways. But he'd made his decision and put his fantasies aside. That was still the wisest course of action. Murata had no intention of causing grief to Shibuya's marriage just to satisfy his own desires, or to alleviate some of the loneliness he felt.

Time would make things easier, it always did. Eventually, Murata would look back and laugh at his obsession. Or at least frame it in a less painful perspective.

* * *

Time did go by in Shin Makoku. A plot to assassinate Shibuya was foiled... yet_ again_. Thanks to Sir Weller's quick thinking and even quicker reflexes. Little Greta gave birth to a son.

Peace reigned, mostly. Murata knew that it was impossible to achieve true peace, humans and mazoku were too greedy and foolish for that. But Shibuya worked hard to make their world as safe as it could be. Any human from war afflicted Earth would be envious of the alternate world.

Time did make it easier for Murata. He had two brief but enjoyable affairs. The first with a minor Lady noble.

Lady Louisa was a brilliant scholar with long dark hair who had been appointed as Envoy to Small Shimaron. She had caught his eye at a royal function while she was on leave from her placement, she had a wicked sense of humour and delightfully long fingers.

The second tryst was with one of Lord von Voltaire's men. Goett was a young squire with light brown hair and a lovely smile who was rather creative with his tongue.

Neither would lead to a long term commitment. In his station, it was difficult to find anyone who was willing to attach themselves publically. Ambition did, indeed, have its limits when it came to the Great Sage. Not that Murata was trying all that hard.

In his previous incarnations in Shin Makoku, he'd cultivated an untouchable, aloof character. The Great Wise man of double black, the one who spoke to Shinou, the shadowy figure behind the throne….

It was one thing to have dalliances but it was another for anyone to seek him out for something lasting. It wasn't that Murata was celibate, and he certainly never gained that reputation, quite the opposite in fact. The rumours of his seductions were greatly exaggerated but even so Murata enjoyed sex, very much. His body was entirely in agreement, replete with a very healthy libido.

Sex was easy, uncomplicated and Murata chose his partners with discretion. But he didn't think he could trust anyone with more. He might give the appearance of carefree affability, the better to be underestimated, but Murata was a very careful individual which meant very few people got to see the real Murata Ken.

Murata couldn't deny his loneliness, but he wouldn't allow himself to dwell, knowing full well that would only lead to more unhappiness. Fortunately, his duties kept him busy enough as a distraction against such introspection.

* * *

It was over a year later when Shibuya invited him to a private dinner with the Prince back at his suites. Shibuya's demeanour was pleasant and casual, nothing like that time at the picnic. Murata wondered if he was going to endure another round of polite conversations, which was the norm these days when it came to Prince Wolfram and Murata had grown weary of it.

Should he decline? Come up with a courteous excuse that nobody would believe but certain that everyone would play along with.

But Murata was curious to see what would happen; this was Shibuya's invitation after all. And this would be in the royal suites; he'd never been invited there before, not since the wedding. Was this Shibuya's way of apologising for the picnic? It didn't seem likely. More than a year had gone by and...well, he was sure that Shibuya would have said something before.

It had been a long time since he'd managed to socialise with Shibuya outside of official duties, not since he'd taken up his position as king full time. And the tea he'd been taking with the Prince and, occasionally, the King had become nothing more than informal briefings, thick with etiquette, boring, and meaningless. In fact, he was too hard-pressed to think of any time he'd been alone with the royal pair. And even then, Sir Weller would be lurking on the periphery.

Murata decided to visit in his typical formal black. It was his default outfit these days anyway. This turned out to be way overdressed. He was surprised to find Yuuri dressed in a long sleeved t-shirt, well worn and cotton pants both purchased on Earth.

Shibuya took time every year to go home, and had, with the help of the Maou and meditations with Lady Ulrike, managed to synchronise the times from Earth and this world together, so that time flowed at exactly the same rate. He used that ability to speed up the time on Earth relative to Shin Makoku when Shibuya went home with his husband. The opposite of how things had been when Shibuya had first been sucked into Shin Makoku so many years ago. Then two months on Earth only meant an hour for the kingdom.

It was the Prince's appearance that was the biggest surprise for Murata, and the first inkling that this night wasn't going to be _anything_ like those afternoon tea parties. Prince Wolfram wore a plain white buttoned shirt, black pants, and was barefoot. The most Murata had ever seen him undressed since the wedding was when he sometimes saw him in the pink nightgown.

He could see why Wolfram put so much effort into his formal uniform. Without it, he looked so much younger and far more touchable.

The white shirt's first few buttons were undone, giving Murata a nice view of his collarbone, an image of tracing his fingers below the collar popped into his head and he squelched it ruthlessly. It was stupid to think he'd managed to get over this attraction over the year; it was now stronger than ever.

Prince Wolfram looked nothing like the proud regal prince when he stalked down the corridors of Covenant Castle, chin held high. This was the Wolfram only Yuuri, Greta, and Conrad would see, lounged on the plush high back chairs around the family dinner table.

The meal was simple: pasta, chicken, and vegetables rounded out with a chocolate flavoured confectionary for Wolfram. The conversation centred on the training schedule for the recruits in the coming year, the usual type of discussions, but Wolfram dominated the conversation with a enthusiasm Murata had not seen in a long time.

They retired to Shibuya's comfortable drawing room, with sweet wine and cakes. Shibuya and his husband on the plush red two seater sofa, and he plopped himself on the equally plush deep seated sofa opposite. The bottle, glasses, and cakes were positioned between them on a coffee table.

"So, how is Greta?" Murata asked as he removed his jacket and draped it over the chair's armrest. The room was warm and the dinner wine had not helped. Wolfram launched into a proud description of the baby and its fitness as well as Greta's wellbeing while Shibuya looked on in affectionate indulgence.

"It seems you've got the child's future already mapped out," Murata said after Wolfram spoke of his plans to get the child trained in swordsmanship. Murata tried, but not very hard, to keep the laughter out of his voice.

Wolfram folded his arms in front of him in faux irritation, although the amused gleam in his eyes gave the game away. "There is nothing wrong with planning for the future."

Murata smiled delighted with Wolfram's openness. This was the man he'd enjoyed talking to before the picnic and he exchanged an amused glance with Shibuya.

"Has Greta given any hints about what the baby's name will be?" Murata asked, filling a wine glass for himself and Wolfram and taking a sip.

Shibuya shook his head. "She's keeping it a secret until naming day."

"Well, at least someone in this family takes Shin Makoku traditions seriously." Wolfram huffed, and before they started bickering about the mistakes Shibuya had made with the wine glass on their wedding day, something Murata was sure was going to be rehashed for at least the next century, Murata changed the subject to castle gossip.

"I hear that Lord von Christ has found a lover and it's Lord von Voltaire's second."

"Pfff," Wolfram waved his hands in obvious disdain. "That's old news. At least, it keeps him from fawning over Yuuri...too much." He amended quickly under his breath, but audible enough for Murata to hear.

Murata agreed that there was very little that would stop Lord von Christ from his enthusiastic admiration of the King.

Wolfram really enjoyed the light-hearted court gossip, as long as the topic didn't get too close to home. Murata carefully refrained from mentioning any of the latest doings of Lady Cecilie, who was on yet another one of her trips abroad.

Yuuri seemed surprised with every single dramatic, salacious revelation or, at least, pretended to in order to get a reaction out of Wolfram whose cheeks had taken on an attractive red tint.

Murata could see why. The most beautiful thing about Wolfram was how vibrant he became when he was passionate about something and Wolfram was the most passionate person he knew. Wolfram kept that passion reined in well enough for the public, much more successfully over the last few years. But in private he burnt brighter than the fire he wielded. He could see that Yuuri didn't have a chance. A moth to a flame, good thing the moth was tough.

"Murata, are we boring you?" asked Wolfram, taking his attention away from his private musings.

"Sorry, sorry…just lost in my thoughts. What did you say?"

"I'm just wondering if you plan to visit Earth anytime soon. Yuuri and I will be visiting after Greta's son is presented."

It was hard to get back into Shin Makoku politics after so long on Earth, and Murata disliked the cultural whiplash when moving from one world to another. Unlike Yuuri, Murata's connection to his birth parents was poor. He scarcely saw his father growing up and his mother was a little afraid of him. As best he could, he tried to act like a child, but the memories had arrived much earlier in this life and he knew his mother wasn't fooled. She had been relieved when he had told her he was studying in England. It was a good cover story for his absence. He'd arranged with Shori to send his parents reports of his fictional progress. Murata didn't think he was missed, and it bothered him more that it didn't bother him.

He had felt much more at home in Shin Makoku. Shin Makoku had never been perfect, but it was where he came from originally, and barring an emergency, he didn't expect to return anytime soon.

"No, I have no plans to go back. But I might give you a list of books for you to collect while you're over there. Perhaps a couple of reference catalogues as well, if it's no trouble?" He smiled sheepishly.

"You should come sometime; Mama Jennifer is rather fond of you and asks after you." Wolfram pressed.

Murata looked over at them and forced a pleasant smile, but the look Yuuri gave him showed that he understood more than he let on. Wolfram was less perceptive.

Murata had always liked Miko. She was kind and unconventionally quirky for a Japanese housewife. Miko had accepted Murata's eccentricities with openness and good-humoured affection, showering him with affection which he never got at home.

Miko was a large part of the reason he'd spent time over at the Shibuya household, even when Yuuri wasn't there. Maybe he would reconsider coming back for a visit later on.

"Yes, perhaps next year."

* * *

He played a few games of Halma with Prince Wolfram as Shibuya watched, a strategy board game popular at court. Wolfram almost beat him a few times. Shibuya wanted to play Igo, but Murata's head was buzzing with the wine and he was grateful when Wolfram protested.

"Next time, then," Shibuya said. "I've been teaching Wolfram how to play." He explained to Murata.

"It doesn't make sense, Yuuri. You know I've tried," Wolfram grumbled.

"You just hate playing a game you can't beat me in straight away," Yuuri said with a grin, patting Prince Wolfram's thigh playfully.

Murata looked away. The intimacy before him wasn't for his eyes.

During the course of the night,Wolfram had all but made his way into Yuuri's lap, both of them flush with wine. They were beautiful together. When Yuuri leaned over to give Wolfram a lingering kiss on the brow with his hand appreciably caressing the inside of Wolfram's thigh, Murata knew it was time to go.

He stood up abruptly, grabbing his jacket.

"Thank you for inviting me for dinner." He'd probably go down and see if he could crash on Yozak's spare bed, or get one of the maids to set him up. It was way past midnight and he didn't relish the thought of making his way back to the temple at this hour.

Wolfram stood up, brushing aside Yuuri's wandering hands easily.

"You can't go yet. We should play another game." Wolfram was standing way too close to him for comfort.

"No, no. I should be getting back to the Temple," Murata lied, although he found he was reluctant to move.

"Don't go." Wolfram leaned in and kissed him. And he suddenly found himself with an armful of warm sweet smelling mazoku, even knowing that Yuuri was sitting on the sofa watching. In fact, the thought of Yuuri sitting on the sofa watching was enough to make him dizzy with desire as the blond Prince practically devoured him. He pushed Wolfram off him gently, resisting the urge to touch the Prince's hair.

Wolfram was flushed and dazed, and it only made Murata want to kiss him once more. He shut his eyes and blocked out the sight. Murata sucked in a resolved breath. This wasn't a good idea.

"I really should be going." He looked over at Shibuya, expecting to see him all embarrassed and uncertain. But Yuuri was watching the proceedings with wide appreciative eyes. Murata hesitated.

Wolfram took that opportunity to kiss him again, warm and loose limbed, his mouth tasting of the sweet wine. "Please stay tonight." Wolfram whispered in his ear and louder as he curled one arm around him, leaning back so Murata could see his green eyes.

"_We'd_ really like it if you stayed and played." Wolfram was intoxicated but not nearly enough to _not_ know what he was doing.

Okay, Murata was only human. He found himself giggling out loud at that thought and then smothering it in another full kiss with Wolfram. This time, really allowing himself to run his hands through the blond hair which was tied back at Wolfram nape, itching to let the blond tresses loose. Of course, he was only human, in this lifetime, which meant he had only a short time and he really, really wanted Wolfram, and by the looks of it Yuuri didn't mind.

But there was one thing he had to say before he threw himself into this insanity, to be certain.

He looked over at Shibuya, gorgeous on the sofa.

"Do you want me to _play_ with Wolfram, Shibuya?" He was almost going to say, "Do you want me to fuck your husband?" but he wasn't familiar enough with this Yuuri, a sexual Yuuri to ask so boldly.

In a flash Yuuri was next to him, "Only if I can play, too."

Murata blinked. That was not what he was expecting. But Wolfram was all over him again, and thought became very difficult all of a sudden. Murata's head was turned and Yuuri kissed him, Wolfram with one arm around Murata's hips and Yuuri with his hand clutching the fabric below his collar, such deliberate sweet seduction. Yuuri shivered slightly against him, and Murata wasn't sure if it was from desire or from nerves, perhaps a bit of both.

"Okay," he breathed into Yuuri's neck. "Okay, yes." And Murata let himself be dragged into the King's bedchamber.

* * *

Afterwards, Murata went out on the balcony to clear his head. It certainly was a cool enough night to do so.

He wrapped Yuuri's nightrobe around him. Wolfram was sound asleep when he left. Yuuri had mumbled a sleepy protest but stilled when he'd carefully removed Yuuri's arms from around him as he crawled out of their warm bed.

He sat down on the stone bench, wincing a little. Yuuri had been very enthusiastic, not that Murata minded much at the time.

He looked up at the stars, combing his fingers through his unbound hair trying to remove the tangles. It was a nice balcony, just like his back at the temple, high and large enough so that it provided privacy if you didn't lean out on the balustrade. And the balcony was positioned so that nobody could see from other windows, more for security really. The stars were very bright tonight, he thought, shivering slightly as a cool breeze came through.

He was having first regrets, familiar those. No matter how many memories, how many experiences he had in his head, he still managed to dive into awkward situations. Perhaps that was part of being mortal.

"I can hear you thinking from the bed," Yuuri said, walking out onto the balcony. He was wearing Wolfram's pink nightrobe.

Privately, he thought that Wolfram's style was adorable. Murata liked lace and silk. It wasn't seen as exclusively feminine in Shin Makoku – but pink did suit Wolfram's complexion better.

"Come on," Yuuri offered his hand to help him up. "Let's go into the drawing room. It's warmer. The sofas are soft and maybe you can share your thoughts...if you want." Murata would forever be fascinated by the bouts of nervousness that Yuuri had which were covered by easy confidence, like now. Like before, _Only if I can play too._

He let Yuuri lead him without saying a word.

Murata sat back on one corner of the long sofa which Yuuri and Wolfram had been on earlier that night…or last night. It was early morning now. He took his glasses off and carefully laid them on the side table next to the sofa. Murata much preferred the prescription glasses from Earth, so he was careful with the two he had left. He'd broken one already.

Yuuri stretched his body down on his side and laid his head on Murata's lap with his nose buried snug against his belly.

"Can you breathe there?" Murata asked with amusement, the first words he'd spoken. He ran his hands through Yuuri's short hair affectionately; Yuuri wasn't fond of the long haired style popular with nobles. Murata thought of all the effort it took to keep his long hair neat and conceded that Yuuri did have a point there.

"You smell nice" Yuuri said softly, and the way that his friend said that gave Murata little butterflies in his stomach. Yuuri rolled over so he was looking up at him. Murata wondered if Yuuri realised that he'd slipped into his native Japanese. It had been a while since Murata had heard the language. Yuuri's cadence was a little different and his vowels had altered. He'd picked up a slight drawl from speaking mazoku.

The fire had banked in the fireplace, but the firebricks that enclosed the fire kept heat in for hours. So, it was very nice in the small drawing room. It was much warmer than his room back at the Temple or even the king's master bedroom which was larger and had odd drafts coming through. Murata had only discovered that as he'd sneaked out earlier. The bed itself had been warm enough, with thick blankets and plenty of body heat.

"Do you remember when we used to lie under the kotatsu in winter in my bedroom and watched baseball on television? It seems like a thousand years ago…" Yuuri murmured.

Do you miss that? Murata thought, but he held his silence sensing that Yuuri had more to say.

"It was nice, a little like this." There was a pause. "Do you still have nightmares?" Yuuri asked starkly, an unexpected question.

Ah, yes. It was from one of those times in Yuuri's rooms that Shibuya had shared his dream. Death was a general theme. "Side-effect of trauma, bad memories," Murata dismissed lightly, shrugging his shoulders. Death was traumatic, messy, painful and frightening, but he wasn't going to say that.

Shibuya blinked up at him and even without his glasses he could see the concern, or maybe he imagined it.

"I'm used to it; it's not so much nightmares, but memories. Memories of other lives…I don't get the dreams often and they don't trouble me." And even less if he had someone to share his bed, but he wasn't going to say that, either. He didn't want to make Yuuri feel obligated.

Murata wasn't going to tell anyone that in this life the memories were the strongest. He suspected that they were all needed for him to guide Yuuri on his path. Who he was now, his personality, was shaped more by his other lives, his first life, especially, than this one. Little Murata Ken of Tokyo had ceased to be a long time ago.

Shibuya didn't say anything, but stopped Murata's hand that he'd been absent-mindedly winding through Yuuri's hair and kissed Murata's palm lightly. Then held it against his heart.

"You need to stay over again. It was fun. Wolfram certainly enjoyed it, that thing you did...with the..." Yuuri did a little wave of his free hand to demonstrate. "I don't think I've seen him moan that enthusiastically before." Yuuri didn't sound one bit jealous. He sounded amused and very impressed.

"Why aren't you jealous?" Murata asked sincerely in a low voice, curious. He noticed absently that he was also speaking Japanese.

Yuuri looked up at him thoughtfully. "I shouldn't be the one who's jealous…"

Before Murata could puzzle it out, Yuuri sat up, turned, and gently pushed him downwards. "Here, lie down. This position is killing my back."

With a little work, Murata ended up on his back, a cushion under his head while Yuuri ended up on his side, back against the rear of the sofa, one arm and leg slung across him.

"That's better," Yuuri said contentedly.

Yuuri arranged his pink robe over them both. It was cosy. Yuuri smelt of Wolfram's cologne, and of sex. He felt his cock stir. Down, he thought mentally. Murata was way too tired for another round.

Yuuri sighed and laid his head down under Murata chin. "When I look into your eyes..." Yuuri said quietly. "I see someone who looks so very old and so very young at the same time. It's...freaky but reassuring. I think that even before I knew who you were, I noticed it. It's what attracted the Maou's awareness. He's the same. What I feel of him is what I see in you, someone who's seen too much, and who's very much…alone. Except you have a sense of humour, a twisted one, but still." Yuuri laughed nervously. Murata wasn't going to deny what Yuuri said.

He could see why Yuuri had chosen for them to lie there like this. They couldn't look each other in the eye and, perhaps, it was easier that way.

Murata stroked Yuuri's hair in reassurance, as much for himself as it was for the King.

"How long?" Murata asked after a moment. He knew that Shibuya would know what he meant.

"Sometime after the boxes. The Maou is very direct when he wants something, and he wanted you. I didn't...not really then. I was still trying to come to terms with my feelings for Wolfram and desperately holding on to the idea that I was straight. You have no idea how hard that was sharing a bed with him. He's...stunning and has a good heart. Even from the beginning, I found him attractive. I just was very good at pretending otherwise."

Yuuri caressed Murata's shoulder absent-mindedly while he spoke.

"So, I told the Maou absolutely not," Yuuri continued. "And he didn't say anything more about it, not that he says anything. At least most of the time. Though, sometimes he talks to me in dreams, but I can...feel what he wants, and I guess he can feel me as well. I think he'd know he'd get his way eventually. He always does." The last words weren't said with bitterness or resignation, but matter-of-factly.

He stilled his fingers in Yuuri's hair. _Oh Yuuri. _

Murata could feel Yuuri sigh against him.

"After our marriage, he started again, and I began to watch you. I was curious at first. I wanted to know what the Maou saw in you. To me, you were Murata, a school friend. But, the more I watched, the more I could see...well, that I wanted you too. You were still a friend, but it was different. But I wanted Wolfram as well...I _love _Wolfram; I'm in love with him. He's family. So, I couldn't... I didn't know how I could see you, want you, and still want Wolfram. I wouldn't have done anything to hurt my husband, no matter what the Maou thought."

"What changed?" Murata asked quietly realising how hard that would have been for Yuuri, going against what the Maou wanted.

"Wolfram. He noticed. He didn't say, but I know he noticed and he told me he was interested in you as well. Eventually, he convinced me. It took a_ lot_ of convincing. I didn't want him to be jealous – and well, it felt wrong at first, but Wolfram was...persuasive. I saw how you looked at Wolfram, so I thought maybe... it was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I was terrified last night, afraid you'd be offended, afraid that Wolfram would get hurt."

Yuuri fell silent for a moment. The room was very still.

Then Yuuri sucked in an unsteady breath, his cheek still pressed underneath Murata's chin.

"When I asked you the first time, I was relieved when you turned us down. I don't think I was ready then. But it didn't change anything and...Wolfram was relentless; he thought you might need more incentive," Yuuri laughed shortly.

Murata stroked Yuuri's hair thoughtfully. He had it wrong the entire time. It was Yuuri who wanted him, not Wolfram. He never thought Wolfram was as selfish as many believed but Murata never thought the Prince could be this selfless, to share Yuuri with another, to love Yuuri enough to do so. Murata recalled the heated look Wolfram had given him earlier on. Maybe not so much.

"It doesn't feel wrong, though," Yuuri admitted. "I love Wolfram, but I think…I think if you let me, I could love you, too." Yuuri's voice was hesitant, vulnerable.

Murata didn't trust his voice at first. So he lowered his head and kissed the top of Yuuri's head lightly. He cleared his throat.

"I think I'd be happy to stay over again." He couldn't make any other promises, not yet. But Yuuri's relieved exhale was good enough for now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Warnings:** Sexual content, not explicit

**Notes:** See first page

* * *

It was a few weeks into their arrangement that Sir Weller approached him about the matter. The affair was hardly a secret to the inner circle. Murata had deliberately ignored any reaction, only registering Lord von Voltaire's frown directed at him when the chancellor thought he wasn't looking, but that didn't mean anything. Lord von Voltaire always found emotions troublesome.

And then there was Yozak's grin which broadened every time he said anything to the prince in meetings. Wolfram was quite proficient in ignoring this, for Murata knew it would not have gone unnoticed. Later, he'd ask his friend to tone it down, even if he found it secretly amusing.

Murata assumed that Sir Weller knew. He would have to be a fool not to notice. After the wedding the captain had moved to the suite adjoining the king's. Now that Wolfram's paranoia about his brother's intentions had been quelled, the captain could act on his over protectiveness.

He suspected that Sir Weller's love for Yuuri was just as deep as his was for Julia's and probably, just as pure.

Murata didn't feel the selflessness was entirely healthy, but from the bits and pieces he'd heard, and the clues he'd gotten from Yozak, he knew the captain's life had been hard. If giving his life to the Demon King brought him some form of peace, then it wasn't for him to judge. Everyone dealt with hardship differently.

It was three in the morning when Sir Weller brought the subject up. Murata had left the slumbering King and Prince to look up on some research in the shared reference room where Sir Weller was signing papers.

"Not sleeping well?" The captain asked him politely.

"Well enough, but I do my best work late at night and in the early morning so my sleep patterns are unusual," Murata shrugged.

Weller nodded as if he understood and Murata sat down opposite him with an early treatise on poisons.

"And how are His Majesty and Wolfram?" Weller asked with deceptive mildness. Murata gave the captain a sharp look but chose to respond in a bland manner.

"Sleeping well," There was a moment where Sir Weller seemed to be evaluating the situation.

"Excuse me for presuming, Your Eminence, but I think you are good for them both," Murata quirked his eyebrows in surprise, but chose not to respond immediately.

"Their relationship has had its moments. For the most part, they are good for each another. If they had been ordinary men without the burden of leadership, I think they would have been able to find more of an...equilibrium. Then again, if their lives were different, they wouldn't be who they are and they would never have met. I think you give them..." He searched for the appropriate word, "…balance. You give Wolfram someone whom he can respect and much more to the point, love passionately. And you give His Majesty more tender affection and peace of mind when it comes to his husband," Conrad smiled gently.

Murata slowly smoothed the old papers underneath his fingers, as a way to curtail the urge to nervously adjust his glasses.

"Not that I think that both love and respect are lacking… it's just," Weller added hastily "Wolfram is much older than Yuuri, not in maturity but in life experience. So, he has taken on more responsibility with ruling and leading His Majesty. But I think he craves to be looked after more. We neglected him so as a child." Sir Weller's eyes grew sad.

Murata's hands stilled, he knew what Conrad was saying. There was a vulnerable, gaping hole in Wolfram's heart, from his childhood. Growing up during the war, with a mother caught up in political machinations and two brothers fighting, he'd been emotionally neglected, given toys and baubles and having his every whimsy catered to by resentful servants who, themselves, were stressed by staffing shortages and fear for loved ones. True, Wolfram got everything he wanted, but nothing he needed. It didn't excuse some of Wolfram's spoiled behaviour, but it was understandable.

An image of a bloody, tear stained Wolfram came to mind on that fateful day, on a wind battered rocky slope. Wolfram's struggle to gain Yuuri's affections and, then, to learn to let go, the emotional fallout and Wolfram's growth had been almost too painful to watch. He pushed the image out of his mind, only to be replaced by Yuuri on the sofa admitting that it had been his idea all along – because the Maou wanted it. Just like Weller, Yuuri only wanted what was best for Wolfram, for both of them.

"With you there, His Majesty gets some space to let go. The King can't always be there for Wolfram."

Murata was suddenly angry; Weller could see so much and, yet, missed the obvious. But just as quickly his anger left him. No, nobody knew how their relationship worked. In fact, Murata couldn't even work it out, but that was only right, it was not for anyone else to know.

"I can assure you, Sir Weller. I'm not being altruistic," Murata replied, his voice curt. Whatever Yuuri and Wolfram got out of their affair, he got back threefold. So much so, he dared not think about what he would do when it would inevitably end.

In this relationship, he found contentment, companionship, and _lots_ of really good sex.

Conrad nodded. "I think it's also good for you."

Well, perhaps Sir Weller wasn't so blind after all. Murata nodded and they lapsed into a companionable silence as he studied and Weller continued his paperwork.

* * *

The affection that Murata got from both men..._men_ now as youthful as they seemed, was very different.

With Yuuri, it was the easy familiarity of friendship, now laced with new, intimate tension. Yuuri liked to snuggle. It was awkward with Murata's midnight reading habits. He would often have to carefully remove himself from underneath Yuuri's body, which was draped over him like a heavy blanket. Wolfram took up the other half of the bed, contorted at odd angles and dead to the world.

It was Yuuri whose eyes would open and who he'd have to reassure as he left.

The dynamics of their lovemaking was different, too. Yuuri was dominant and took the lead, although he was happy to lay back and let Murata pleasure him with his hands and tongue. A year old fantasy which Murata relished acting on. He could, and would, keep Yuuri on edge for what seemed like hours.

Sometimes, Yuuri would take him, and he knew then that the Maou came to the fore, the slitted possessive eyes glowing in the dark. Murata knew more than anyone the raw power of the elemental spirit and was just a little bit afraid which heightened his excitement. Murata acknowledged it was a bit twisted to get off on the fear, but he knew that the Maou wouldn't hurt him. But knowing and _knowing _were different matters. He was sure Yuuri felt the same way, relishing the raw domination, the Maou's will. They never spoke of it.

Far more exciting and alarming was Yuuri's habit of accosting him during the day for quick and sloppy make-outs, Yuuri's hands down in his pants driving him wild, or him on his knees at different times in deserted rooms and closets across the castle. Something Murata would never be able to do with Wolfram.

Yuuri could take on as many lovers as he wanted to and nobody would bat an eye, but Wolfram's tryst with anyone other than the King would be treason. This was the crux of Murata's anxiety; the thing which held him back, kept his pragmatic heart guarded. This was just a temporary arrangement. It couldn't last long, not if he was going to sleep with the Prince...but oh, it was so very hard to resist.

While he took Wolfram in the King's chamber with the Demon King by his side, nobody could protest. Although the rumours of such were, so far, just rumours, nobody had any proof. But Murata's time alone with Wolfram was a gamble. The longer he engaged in such behaviour, the higher the likelihood of being discovered and Wolfram had no scarcity of enemies in the court who would love the chance such betrayal afforded them. It was best he end it before it came to that. Tomorrow, he would think, tomorrow I'll walk away. But after many months, winter turning to spring, "tomorrow" had yet to arrive.

Wolfram's was an eager, sometimes reverential love, which occasionally embarrassed Murata. But he found it easy to love such a sweet beautiful creature and Wolfram could be very sweet.

Like his mother, Wolfram had a passionate nature, well concealed to any outsider behind his haughty lord soldier persona. But it was easy to see in their bedchamber, when confident of acceptance, Wolfram's flirtations and seductions were carefree and natural.

Whether it be at night when Yuuri was there, watching and caressing them both while he fucked Wolfram slowly. (The blonde's legs held tight around Murata's waist, almost wordlessly begging him to go faster, to push him over the precipice.) Or the leisurely make out sessions in the morning where Yuuri had already left for his morning run, both himself and Wolfram being late risers.

Murata was, oddly enough, awake more often than Wolfram. Unlike his room in the Temple, the morning sunlight would stream directly into the room when it got to a later hour, and it would wake him up.

One morning, he lay there lazily, watching the blue sky with clouds rolling by and the curtains moving in the breeze, deliberately not thinking about anything in particular. Yuuri always insisted the windows be opened, even with the cooler nights; no wonder the room was drafty.

Murata rolled over with a contented sigh. Wolfram was asleep on his stomach, naked. The Prince had managed to kick most of the blankets off and only had a white sheet covering part of his body. Murata appreciated the long lines of his bare leg. He stretched over and retrieved his glasses from the bedside, the better to appreciate the view. He wasn't worried about waking the prince. Unless there was danger, Wolfram would sleep through practically anything.

Once, a few lifetimes ago, he'd been an artist. Murata wondered if it was a skill he could pick up again. It was always hit and miss with past life memories. For the view here was well worth painting. The sun worshipped Wolfram. His long eyelashes and hair golden, splayed across the pillow. Wolfram had grown his hair the same as Murata and it had grown wavy. The sun had picked up the fine texture of the fine white hairs that covered his back, downy like and thickest in the small of his back. Murata indulged himself and lightly caressed the fine hairs and Wolfram hummed happily, twitching a little at the feather like touch.

"You're awake?"

"Hmmm..." Wolfram replied. The prince opened his green eyes, his pupils unfocused. His eyes widened quickly with alarm and he shot up suddenly.

"What time is it?" They both looked over to the timepiece on the wall.

"Oh crap! I've got drills in less than half an hour, _stupid _alarm." Wolfram glared at the machine which Anissina had given the royal couple as a wedding gift. Murata coughed. He'd shut it off earlier, oops.

"Don't worry; you've got plenty of time." He reassured Wolfram, partly to get the prince's attention away from how he'd slept in.

It was a rare morning indeed for the prince to start so early when he wasn't out with his troops out in the regions. The Prince's day was long, but he wasn't a morning person and if he could get away with it, he'd rise late and worked late. Lord von Christ knew better than to make any early appointments for the Prince Consort, usually. But Wolfram did take his military duties seriously.

Calmly he helped Wolfram into his layers of military clothing and hurriedly brushed the long blond hair while Wolfram adjusted his cuffs and his cravat.

Finally, Wolfram was dressed. The prince looked himself over in the mirror critically. He removed a speck of dirt from his right boot and straightened the black ribbon in his hair. Wolfram's morning routine normally took longer; the Prince was very particular about his appearance and spent a great deal of time getting things just so.

"I wish I had time for a bath," Wolfram said plaintively, patting his hair down.

"You look fine." He took in Wolfram's knee high black boots, and tight fitting pants, _more_ than fine.

"You should make it to the training yard with a few minutes to spare if you hurry now." Wolfram nodded and lightly kissed Murata on the cheek before rushing out.

As the door in the outer chamber slammed shut Murata sat down on the bed, relishing the solitude. The maids didn't come until after lunch, so he had a little time, and all his appointments were in the afternoon. Maybe he'd brush up on some trade law for that meeting he had next week. But first a nap.

As he lay down, he felt something hard poking into his side. It was Wolfram's sword pommel. Oh _great_, Wolfram had left it behind. If he hurried, Murata could get it to him in time. It had only been moments.

Without thinking, he pulled on his black night robe, tied his hair back roughly, and ran down the hallway. At this time of day, there was nobody around, apart from the guards stationed at the end of the hall who he paid no heed to. He ran down a flight of stairs and turned down the outside corridor which faced the east garden square. With relief, he spotted Wolfram at the end coming back towards him. Clearly, Wolfram had realised his mistake. His face was flustered and irritated.

"Your Highness!" Murata caught up with him, breathing heavily. "Here."

He handed the sword over with care; it was probably not a good idea to have run with it, even sheathed as it was.

Wolfram's face changed from irritation to a sweet smile. "Thanks."

The transformation took Murata's breathe away. Without any thought, Murata leaned in and kissed him. Wolfram let him for a second and then jerked back suddenly. His expression disapproving.

Murata took a step back uncomfortably. Without a word, Wolfram turned and left, sprinting down the hallway, his boots echoing. Murata looked about, nobody was around, and the gardens were empty. He touched his lips in shame and exhaled shakily.

"That was a stupid thing to do, Murata Ken," He said softly to himself. Murata hurried back to the chambers; nothing good could come from being seen running around barefoot with only a nightrobe in the castle corridors. Nothing good could come of being seen kissing the prince.

Tomorrow, he thought, tomorrow had come. It was time to go back to his old life.

* * *

Two days later, he was summoned to Lord von Voltaire's office. Yozak was the one who found him in the kitchens casually chatting and flirting with the maids.

Yozak's grim face got Murata's attention immediately.

The spy led him down one of the side halls, a much longer way to get to Voltaire's office, but far more private. Murata's heart sunk.

"It's not good," Yozak said only a few minutes later. They were climbing some steep circular stairs where cobwebs were hanging from the stone walls; definitely out of the way.

"I was instructed _not_ to talk to you, just to collect you post-haste. Some of the Aristocrats have been in conference with Lord von Voltaire. I wasn't told anything, but word is that they are placing charges against the Prince Consort for treason."

The surprise must have shown on his face, so Yozak elaborated somewhat unnecessarily. "For betrayal of the King, on breaking his vows."

"I had already worked that out," Murata interrupted loudly with irritation. He couldn't have imagined that anyone would have evidence against the prince on more mundane treachery.

Yozak frowned at him and he lowered his voice so it wouldn't carry. They may be in a secluded section, but in the castle, the walls had ears.

He took a deep breath. Being anxious as he was, Murata had to manage his emotions, panicking would not help the situation.

"Well you _should_," Yozak replied, giving him a significant look with his arms crossed. "Look, I know, whatever it is that you have with the Prince Consort is something the kid is fine with..." Yozak paused obviously choosing his words carefully. "I know what the arrangement is, or I can guess, but I didn't think you'd be dim-witted as to do anything in public."

Comprehension struck Murata. Yozak's harsh words were deserved. He blew out a sigh, and leaned against the cold stone walls to steady himself. It must have been the kiss. He hadn't seen anyone at the time, but there were plenty of places someone could have seen from the eastern corridor, the gardens alone...

"He'll be hung...," he stopped himself. "Who were the witnesses? Yozak's intelligence system was first-class, he was sure the spy would know.

"Whoa, whoa! They don't go hanging royal spouses any longer; at least, not for generations," Yozak reassured him. "But it was two nobles who saw, and one who has good standing and no association to any of the factions who have issues with the prince. The story is considered reliable so a challenge has been issued. At the worst, he'll be publically whipped and stripped of his title. Not his family name, although Lord Waltorana von Bielefeld would have the right if he wanted to. But his position as Prince Consort, they can't terminate the marriage unless that is the king's wish and you know that he would never consent to that."

No, no, he wouldn't. But a public whipping and being stripped of his title would hurt Wolfram deeply. He had a proud ego and loved Yuuri dearly. To be accused of such a betrayal in public; in many ways, that would leave deeper, more permanent scars than whipping.

Which brought him to another sickening thought, "Will they force scars?"

Yuuri had ruled for almost ten years, and had no cause to beat anyone - well except for that one traitor, but that had been taken care of without Yuuri's intervention. Murata had only a hazy notion of how criminal justice worked these days. He made a note to study the subject more after he'd fixed his mistake and salvaged Wolfram's reputation.

Yozak sighed,"That will remain to be seen."

"So, they still do that." If leniency was given to lesser crimes, usually thievery or slander against the Crown or Aristocracy, then the punishment was reduced to a beating; usually a public flogging with an eight-tailed whip of stiffened cord. The whip was designed to lacerate in such a way as to cause the most pain and, if the crime was deemed serious enough, then healing would be withheld that prevented scars. There would only be sufficient healing to prevent infection.

Murata could recall seeing such scars; they were another form of public humiliation, ugly knotted claw-like welts left as a lifetime reminder of transgression. He did not, could not, want to imagine them on Wolfram. His beautiful skin was flawless as only a pure-blood mazoku could be.

If Murata couldn't come up with a plan to save Wolfram, it would be a disaster. He knew that Yuuri would not let anyone hurt Wolfram, but going against the ruling of the Aristocrats would be dangerous. Yuuri was made King by virtue of Shinou's will. But without the Aristocrats support he would have no real power. It was with a sinking feeling that he realised that everyone would rely upon him to make sure that Yuuri _didn't _intervene, if it came down to it. Murata could do it, stop Yuuri, if he had to. Shin Makoku needed a ruler who could help and protect the people. Murata would do it, and he knew he would be successful. But he'd hate himself, and Yuuri would hate him and there would be no forgiveness.

He closed his eyes, no point in thinking about that now. Murata still had some time to come up with a plan to protect what he held dear.

"Well let's get this over with then."

* * *

To protect those he cared for, he could and would be the Great Sage equal to the King as the sacred conduit to Shinou. He may have the body of a slender twenty-five year old human, but he knew that he could frighten anyone if he so chose and no mere Aristocrat, as much esteemed as Voltaire was, would best him.

Lord von Voltaire blinked and bowed his head to rearrange some papers on his desk, the only way that he would ever show he was intimidated.

It was his poor judgement which had led to this, so Murata had been repentant when he'd entered Voltaire's office. However, the sight of Wolfram's humiliated posture as he sat across from his eldest brother raised Murata's hackles.

Murata knew that Lord von Voltaire had nothing but love for his little brother and the berating which he interrupted when he entered was only an expression of Lord von Voltaire's fear for Wolfram's position and safety. But, for all that, Voltaire _knew_ how much his words and opinion meant to his little brother, and he'd have known how much self-castigation Wolfram would have taken upon himself already.

"Prince Wolfram has not betrayed the King. Is my word not good enough?" Murata asked in a deceptively mild voice. Voltaire gave him a half-hearted glare. "Who was witness?" Murata asked, not in any way daunted.

"I only know of the one, and only because she spoke to me first, a consideration I was most grateful for; though, I've been half expecting this for a while." Voltaire frowned. "Lord von Rochford told me that both witnesses are to be relied on, and, in that, I had no doubt. They would not have bothered to come forward with these...claims… without sure evidence." He gave Murata another ineffective glare." The person who did come see me was Lady Louisa," Voltaire further elaborated.

An image of the long, dark haired noble flashed through Murata's mind's eyes. Of course, she would have been back for the annual debriefing. She must have seen the kiss in the corridor.

Murata sighed; the Lady who he had a brief affair with would not have come forth without prompting. The other noble must have told someone, and when questioned, Louisa would have reluctantly, Murata could imagine, verify the truth. It was a kindness for her to give Lord von Voltaire prior warning.

"Yet, there was no betrayal and what Lady Louisa saw, it's not enough to claim that Wolfram is being unfaithful." Murata said.

Wolfram had stayed silent throughout this entire discussion, finding his hands much more fascinating.

Lord von Voltaire raised an eyebrow at him. His eyes hardened. Of course he would know what the truth was and he'd know that his brother was not doing anything so dishonourable. Murata conceded, if not in words, that the Chancellor was right, the kiss would have looked bad and appearances were more important than truth when it came to court politics.

"You, of all people," Voltaire responded in heat, "should have known better! In fact...both of you _should_!" Voltaire got up from his chair, slamming his fist down on the desk to emphasise his last point, his voice was gruff and loud as he looked pointedly at Wolfram who had raised his eyes at his tone and flinched.

Murata frowned, and looked away slightly allowing Voltaire his point. There was no time for argument. There were more important things to discuss.

"Regardless of what happened, it changes nothing," added Voltaire, for the first time sounding sorry. "For the voting will be close, and I'm afraid even our allies will feel honour bound to vote against Wolfram with the required witnesses and one who is beyond reproach."

A thought occurred to Murata. Where was Shibuya? He opened his mouth to ask when the object of his almost-query strode into the room, door slamming. In Yuuri's wake came Lord von Christ and Sir Weller; the latter with a smug look on his face that was at odds with Christ's troubled frown.

Wolfram, worried, stood up quickly. "Yuuri, I..."

"It's okay," Yuuri said placing a calming hand on Wolfram's shoulder. The closest informal intimacy that Wolfram would allow in the company of others, even just with his brothers and Lord von Christ present...and after this well...

Yuuri turned to Voltaire. "Günter briefed us along the way; sorry it took so long to get here. We were a little further along the wall with the inspection than we thought."

Before Voltaire could reprimand him as usual, Yuuri turned to Christ. "This afternoon, Wolfram and I have a garden tea memorial for some long-ago battle."

"The commemoration of the Battle of Dutton's Peak, which was pivotal in the war against the northern insurgents one thousand years ago, a critical moment in the Kingdom's history where King Waltorana the second-"

"Yes yes," Yuuri waved his hands in impatience, not willing to listen to the lecture that his advisor would be dying to give. "Murata will attend," the king flashed a reassuring smile at Murata which didn't make him feel reassured, quite the contrary.

"And I want you there, too," Shibuya pointed to Voltaire.

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" Christ exclaimed, echoing Murata's thoughts exactly. "Shouldn't we come up with a plan to deal with these treason charges?" Christ added.

"Lord von Rochford will be there. He's the one leading the charges." Voltaire said gruffly, now standing. He had walked around to the front of the desk when Yuuri had arrived. The Chancellor roughly pulled some papers from his desk and pointed to a list.

"Perfect," Yuuri all but bobbed up and down, shooting von Voltaire a bright smile. "Make sure Murata gets to sit next to him, and Wolfram next to Murata."

Voltaire frowned, banging the papers back down on the desk with a thump, Lord von Christ made a small titter of alarm and Wolfram remained seated, strangely silent, face still, looking at nobody in particular.

The Captain, of course, continued to smirk at everyone as if this was a typical weekly meeting.

No, this was not a good idea. This wasn't just bad; it was a disaster in the making.

Murata adjusted his glasses, took a silent breath and spoke.

"What are you up to, Yuuri?" Murata ignored Christ and Voltaire's double-take at the casual use of the king's name, even Wolfram looked surprised. _ Tough, _he was sleeping with the man and there was no need to pretend anymore. "You don't want to piss Rochford off today of all days."

Yuuri looked a little sorry. "I can't really say. Well, I _could_, but it would work better this way...I hope and," With the disbelieving look Murata was sure he was giving the king he finished the sentence "don't worry it will work out for the best. _Trust me_." The last was more a plea and Murata found himself helpless before it. He held his silence and Yuuri nodded and turned to the others.

"For now, I want some time to speak to Wolfram. Günter, brief Murata and Gwendal about the event..._elsewhere_." Yuuri waved his arms in shooshing motions.

"I really think-" replied the Chancellor with force.

"_Elsewhere,_" Shibuya repeated again cutting him short with finality.

With Voltaire looking like thunder, they were all but pushed from the room by Weller.

"I've got to brief my men on some security matters," He heard Sir Weller say. "I'll meet you in your rooms in an hour, Your Majesty."

"It's Yuuri!" was the last thing Murata heard before the door was closed.

* * *

Murata really, really hoped that Yuuri knew what he was doing. From the moment Murata entered the immaculately decked out marquee, tables overladen with silk tablecloths, flowers, and silverware he'd felt naked.

He had made his entrance after the prince with a gap of a few minutes, being here; seated next to the prince would be scandal enough. Murata wouldn't push it by entering with Wolfram and protocol dictated that the most important people attend last. So apart from the king the entire Marquee was packed with all the other guests.

There was a slight lull in conversation as he entered, announced by a trumpet blast and an over-enthusiastic court herald. Furtive looks, whispered conversation; oh word, had undoubtedly spread.

A maid curtsied and led him to his seat, centre, towards the front, in plain view of the thirty or so guests. He could already feel all those eyes. Sometimes, Murata really loathed royal protocol.

He was to be seated between Lord von Rochford and Wolfram. Murata made a mental note to strangle Yuuri afterwards. Murata's cushioned chair was pushed out and he nodded pleasantly as he sat, polite mask firmly in place.

"Good afternoon, Lord von Rochford, Your Highness."

He nodded to Wolfram who had greeted him with the utmost of polite and tactful smiles; he could see no indication of the distraught humiliation from before, or any nervousness. Either Yuuri's private conversation with him had calmed him, or he was an extremely good actor, almost certainly a little of both.

"I didn't expect to see you here, Your Eminence. I was sure you would have had other urgent matters to attend to," Rochford said, his smile did not reach his eyes.

"I'm always interested in Shin Makoku history, Lord von Rochford," he replied in polite civility. Which was true, but he was well known for avoiding as many court held events as Murata could get away with, particularly during the day. So, his attendance was all the more conspicuous.

"Of course, as you are extremely _loyal_ to the Crown, you'd like to show your appreciation in all that _matters_," Rochford said, his eyes flickering slightly over to the prince.

Murata dare not look at Wolfram, although he was sure the prince had heard. The nobles opposite him, and a little down the table, were following the discussion with ill-concealed interest. Oh Yuuri, your plan better be good. Before he could respond, they were interrupted, thankfully, by the trumpets and the announcement of the King. The official part of the proceedings had begun, starting with the speeches.

Murata recalled the briefing he got on the event's schedule. First, Lord von Christ would start with a passionate introductory speech on the significance of the historical commemoration. Then, there would be an interminable line-up of speechifying guests and, _finally,_ the King would conclude with a simple, sincere sounding (and blessedly) short talk.

Murata's thoughts whirled throughout the proceedings. What did Yuuri have planned? A number of ideas sprung to mind and were discarded. Unless...No, Yuuri wouldn't dare to challenge Lord von Rochford to a duel, _would he?_ No, he wouldn't be so stupid. That would be a political disaster. But, even so, Murata came up with strategies to deal with such a scenario; damage control, a fallback plan. All the while he came up with other strategies, like begging Lady Louisa to withdraw her testimony, if that didn't work, bribery, or blackmail could come next. He racked his brain for ways he could accomplish that.

Perhaps, Murata could claim that Lady Louisa did it out of spite because she was in love with him. The thought made him sick, but, sometimes, such measures were necessary. Wolfram was far more important. The King's reputation was far more important.

His mind came back to the events at hand as the audience chimed their cups to show appreciation for Yuuri's speech. But, instead of departing as was custom, Yuuri put his hand up to lower the din and the crystal chimes slacked off and stopped.

"Before I leave, most honoured guests, Lords and Ladies. There is one thing that I wish all to witness. "

No sooner had the king finished, he headed, unerringly, towards Murata's table. Wolfram placed one hand on his knee and squeezed, and it was that which stopped him from coming up with a spur-of-the-moment diversion. Murata would trust Wolfram. It was the hardest thing he'd done for a long time.

Yuuri stopped just before him and Murata tried not to swallow. All eyes were on him.

"Great Sage, Murata Ken, please stand." Yuuri did an aborted bow. In formal situations, his Japanese heritage kicked in. Half the Aristocracy had adopted the bow as the new fad. Murata never did have the heart to tell Yuuri that he needn't bow to anyone. He was king, and, fortunately, greeting customs in Shin Makoku were a little different.

Murata stood up and faced Yuuri. His public mask firmly in place.

He only registered the slight anxiety in Yuuri's eyes and hence had little time to panic, when, with an audible crack, the king slapped him on the cheek, hard. In reflex, he touched his face as the gathered nobles broke into gasps and hushed whispers at the King's action.

"Murata Ken, I ask that you become my second husband, as is my right as Maou."

Murata gaped, his hand was still on his cheek. Of all the things he expected at this event, this was not one of them and he was sure that Yuuri could see his shock.

The room became silent as they waited for any response. If Murata stayed silent, he was agreeable. If he didn't want it at all, then all he had to say was "I decline," If he found the request insulting, he'd challenge the king to a duel, and if he lost that duel, he'd be forced to accept.

This was how the king was going to deal with the situation with Wolfram..._but_...he looked at Yuuri's smiling and nervous face and nodded slightly.

Yuuri's smile lengthened and, carefully, Shibuya picked up his right hand and kissed the back of it.

There was another gasp from those present. With this action, the king was telling everyone that this was a proposal of affection and not of political pragmatism.

Yuuri moved back as Wolfram stood and kissed him on the cheek where Yuuri had slapped him. With the first spouse's blessing and happy acceptance into the family, there were more whispers. This wasn't necessary at all and it certainly wasn't needed; most first spouses only tolerated other wives and husbands, but then, as far as those present knew, this wasn't about politics. Murata thought about how happy Shibuya had been about Rochford being present. This was _entirely _about politics.

If Lord von Christ was shocked by the king's proposal, he did not show it, as he stood and announced in a clear voice, "As has been witnessed, the Great Sage has accepted his glorious Majesty's proposal of marriage. Prince Wolfram von Bielefeld, as Royal Consort and soon to be First Husband has given blessing to His Majesty's choice. As per tradition, the second marriage must be carried out within a month or nullified at his Majesty's pleasure." Lord Christ sat down gracefully but Murata was certain there would be tears later. He felt his eyes prickling. Von Christ wouldn't be alone in that.

The proposal was as official as it could be, witnessed by four aristocrats and more than thirty minor nobles. Not to mention the Prince Consort, and with his blessing.

Murata felt numb ...he barely registered the clatter as Lord von Rochford noisily left the table and exited with a few minor noble cronies, some small part of him noting that with all the fallen cutlery there was not a single knife.

Wolfram shrugged and smiled at him, "Looks like Lord von Rochford isn't pleased."

* * *

It was much later, in Yuuri and Wolfram's rooms, soon to be his, that he let his surprise be known.

"You realise that Lord von Rochford could have upheld the charges," Murata gave the smiling young king a stern look.

"Very unlikely," Wolfram pointed out, head held high as Yuuri removed the brooch and gem adorned chain and untied the knots on Wolfram's cravat with practiced familiarity. "A lot of his allies would have pulled out. Look how fast Lady Louisa withdrew her statement. They would have looked silly to push it forward after the king had made our relations legitimate. Everyone else would have assumed a private proposal had gone through earlier. Not unusual to avoid any potentially embarrassing rejections."

Wolfram gave Yuuri a meaningful look, which was wisely ignored as the prince unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his black lined jacket and placed it neatly on the hanger.

Murata sat down heavily on the bedchamber's divan. He really didn't know what to think, or to feel.

"So," he said with minor exasperation. "How long had you planned for this proposal." There was no way that Yuuri came up with this in one afternoon.

Wolfram smiled, answering for both of them. "A few months. It was Yuuri's idea. We were going to wait longer, after our grandson's naming day…but events moved it along. I thought…I _was terrified_ things were ruined when we were caught," Wolfram said softly, his smile faded. "But, then, Yuuri had an idiotic plan to salvage the situation. And it worked."

Murata gave Yuuri an incredulous look as Wolfram sat next to Murata and slung one arm around his waist for a simple sweet kiss on the cheek.

"You're family. We love you," Yuuri explained as if it was the simplest thing in the world and the young King sat down on his other side and gave him a kiss. This time, a lingering one on his lips, while Wolfram pushed aside the hair on his nape and sucked gently on his neck. He found himself clutching Wolfram's hand with his left one.

Murata felt something inside break, a wall he didn't even know he had, and he was mortified with the sound he made, somewhere between a sob and a sigh.

Yuuri pulled back and looked at him with concerned affection.

"Murata, do you want to reject the proposal?" he could hear Wolfram suck in a deep breath, but otherwise remained silent. "I know we didn't give you much choice...out in public like-"

No, no, _no_! He forced Yuuri to stop with a kiss which was much more fierce and possessive than he intended, his hand still clinging to Wolfram's.

When he pulled back, they were both breathing heavily. Wolfram's other hand was lightly tracing a pattern down the side of Murata's neck, still sensitive from before, down below his collar and onto his collarbone.

Abruptly, he stood after abruptly releasing Wolfram's hand, and turned around to face his lovers, his family.

"Want to play?" He gave them a grin and repeated Wolfram's words from that night when Wolfram had seduced him for the first time. Murata held out both his hands and knew he had made the right choice.

* * *

So guys, what did you think? This is the beginning of, what I hope to be more stories in this universe. So watch this space ;)


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